28 steps to happily ever after
by She's a Star
Summary: In which lonely Valentine's Days lead to disasterous February 15ths, Hermione rocks that denial, Ron wallows in misery, and Harry and Ginny decide to mercifully play matchmaker.


28 steps to happily ever after

(She's a Star)

**Author's Note:** I really have no idea where this came from. I sat down to write something for Pirates of the Caribbean, and wound up with the first scene of this. It's sort of vague and completely silly and ridiculous, and no, I have no idea how Ron and Hermione would have possibly managed to _not_ get together in book seven, but humour me, will ya?

* * *

i.

Ron Weasley wakes up on Monday, February 15th, his hair all messed up, naked except his left sock (which somehow managed to survive the encounter), his arm pleasantly numb on account of her being on top of it, and the first thing he thinks is _Finally_.

Hermione Granger wakes up on Monday, February 15th, her hair even more messed up than usual, naked without any exceptions as she hadn't been wearing any socks in the first place, her back resting comfortably over his arm, and the first thing she thinks is _Finally_. This is followed in quick succession by _Oh God! What have we done??_

It's the second one that winds up making it out of her mouth -- which is regrettable, since Ron would have much rather heard the first.

"Oh God! What have we done??"

Ron frowns at her. "Seriously?"

"_Yes_, seriously!" she cries, and sits up very quickly. The blanket doesn't come with her, and she turns a very vivid shade of red before immediately sinking back down underneath it. "Close your eyes!"

"What?" Ron yelps.

"Close your eyes!!" she repeats furiously. "Do it or I'll curse you, Ronald Bilius Weasley. I swear it."

"Have you gone completely mental??" he demands.

"Clearly!" she says -- or, technically, shrieks, which really just reaffirms it. "Otherwise, I would be at home in my own bed, instead of here!! After we --" But she cannot bring herself to say it, even though she's twenty-one and an important up-and-coming member of the Ministry and living in her own flat and very much an adult, thank you. He will never fail to make her feel thirteen and flustered and livid, and right now, she despises him quite passionately for that fact.

"You're nuts," he decides, glowering at her.

"I am not!!" she protests, swatting a lock of tangled hair out of her eyes mercilessly. "I'm being very practical here! This cannot happen!"

"Er," Ron says, "perhaps you should've thought of that last night, because it's a bit late now."

"How could you do that??" Hermione demands, sitting up higher and being very careful this time to bring the blanket with her. "You seduced me!"

Ron lets out a short, barking laugh. "I _seduced_ you?? Come on!"

"You did!" Hermione insists, her voice alarmingly high. "You seduced me! I came over and I was sad and you were sweet and you brought me tissues when I went all ridiculously weepy over Viktor and you made me tea and _you seduced me_, plain and simple!"

"That's not seduction," Ron protests heatedly. "That's being your best friend."

"Well, clearly you're a bit too good at it!" Hermione snaps.

"Yeah, well, so sorry about the fact the fact that I care about you!" he retorts viciously. "I'll never do it again."

"Good!" Hermione cries. "Because I never want to look at you again for as long as I live, Ron Weasley!"

"Then you'll probably want to think about _getting out of my bed_, Hermione Granger!"

Without quite comprehending what she's doing, Hermione reaches over and slaps him clean across the face.

He just stares at her for a moment, his mouth dropping open slightly, and then his hand drifts very slowly up to his right cheek.

"Ow," he finally determines.

He's so adorable and pathetic that all her righteous fury melts away in about two seconds flat.

"Oh, Ron," she says, wincing, and reaches over to rest her hand on top of his. "God, I'm so sorry."

"You're vicious," he grumbles back. "That's what you are. Stay away from me."

"No, really," she insists, lifting her hand to brush his hair back. "I'm sorry. I'm being a complete monster about this whole thing."

"Wow," Ron says darkly, "ya think?"

She feels a flare of indignation, but vows to ignore it. This is just as much her fault as it is his, and she has no right to blame him for any of it. "Here I am, making a big horrible mess of things, when I've been thinking about -- well, _us_, for years."

"Really?" His voice lightens as he asks it.

She feels herself flushing again. "Really."

"Well," he says, the left corner of his mouth jutting up in a crooked smile, "glad to know I'm not the only one."

She feels a smile curving the corners of her own lips upward, and he's leaning in close, his lips practically brushing against hers, and she's terribly aware of the fact that she wouldn't mind kissing him again. Possibly forever.

"Of course, it can't ever happen again," she says much less forcefully than she'd meant to as her eyes flutter closed.

He pulls back and stares at her. "What?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," she says, and goodness, sometimes she still can't believe how daft he can be. "It could never work."

Ron groans. "Oh, come on, Hermione."

"I'm serious!" she protests. "Neither of us is at a place in our life now where we could possibly accommodate--"

"I can accommodate," Ron interjects impatiently. "Watch me. Bam. There you go. I've accommodated. Fancy that."

"Oh, Ron," she sighs, "don't be stupid."

"I'm not the one who's being stupid here!" Ron exclaims. "What's stupid is ignoring the fact that we're _obviously_ meant to be together."

She laughs. "What?"

"You heard me," he says, a bit viciously. "Written in the bloody stars. Ruddy soulmates. All of that rubbish. That's us, Hermione. Don't even try to pretend that you don't get it. You're never going to get away with playing dumb. Hell, _you_ had it figured out before I did."

"But that was when we were children," Hermione protests. "We had our chance and it passed us by--"

"Knock it off," Ron orders, and there's something blazing in his eyes and she can't decide if it's scary or horribly attractive and finally settles on a combination of both. "This is serious stuff, Hermione. This isn't just some fling or whatever."

"No," she says, struggling for poise. "It's a mistake. And -- and we've learned our lesson, and we've satisfied our curiosity, and now we'll be able to go on with our li--"

Except all of a sudden he's kissing her quite fiercely and everything that's not his mouth goes inconveniently, wonderfully hazy and he's lowering her gently onto her back and hovering over her, and even though his sheets are flannel (which is ridiculous) she really thinks that she could stay in this bed forever, because there really isn't a lack of things to do here, and if it just comes to spending all her time counting his freckles she supposes she would even be all right with that, because he's _Ron_ and somewhere in the back of her head or maybe her heart she knows that he's the love of her life and NO.

"Get off!" she sputters, her hands flying out against his chest and pushing him away.

"I'm trying," he retorts, his eyes taking on this spark of mischief that is most certainly not appealing in any way.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at him. "I hate you."

"You too," he responds affectionately, and leans over to press a kiss against her neck. She feels a smile threatening to blossom on her face.

She presses a firm hand to his chest. "Ron," she says quietly.

He pulls back to look at her, and she certainly doesn't feel a stab of what could very well be heartache as realization darkens his eyes.

"You mean it, don't you?" he says slowly.

She nods, and doesn't allow herself to swallow the lump in her throat because she knows he'll see.

"Okay," he mutters after a moment.

She breathes in, to steady herself. "Close your eyes."

He does, and she sets off gathering her clothes from the bedroom floor.

* * *

ii.

"So," Ginny says, "what did you do last night?"

Hermione wants to die. "Nothing," she responds as vaguely as she can.

"Huh," she says, and stares curiously at her. "You seem weird."

"I'm not," Hermione assures her.

Ginny smirks. "Okay. So," she adds, "how's Viktor doing?"

"Fine, thank you," Hermione squeaks.

"And you two are doing okay?" Ginny proceeds innocently.

"Wonderfully," Hermione assures her, sounding decidedly not unlike a chipmunk.

"Was your Valentine's Day terribly romantic?"

"He couldn't make it home, actually," Hermione says, sounding far too unaffected to be remotely convincing. "But it's not as though I don't understand how important his work is. He's a professional Quidditch player," she throws in unnecessarily.

"You don't say," Ginny responds slyly.

Hermione makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

"You know," Ginny says casually, "Ron just broke up with Isobel."

"Did he?" Hermione asks lightly, and turns very red.

* * *

iii.

"You and Hermione, huh?" Harry asks.

"Yup," Ron says grimly.

"And now she's being . . . ?"

"Hermione," Ron finishes in a monotone. "At her Hermione-est."

Harry cringes sympathetically and pats Ron on the shoulder. "Tough luck."

Ron sighs. "Yeah."

* * *

iv.

"Ron and Hermione?" Ginny asks as soon as she steps in the door.

"Yeah," Harry says as she sits down at the kitchen table opposite him.

"Hah!" Ginny punches the air in triumph. "Knew it."

Harry pushes a cup of tea in her direction. "She wouldn't tell?"

"Nope," Ginny reports. "She insisted upon acting like everything was normal as ever."

"Ah."

"How's Ron?"

"Drunk."

"Yikes." She takes a pensive sip of tea. "You do realize we have to do something about this, right?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "I figured as much."

* * *

v.

Hermione arrives home just in time to find that Ron's sent her a drunken Howler.

". . . YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD DO? YOU SHOULD JUST BLOODY MARRY ME, HERMIONE. THAT'LL SORT THINGS OUT FINE RIGHT, IT WILL! HAH. AND THEN WE'LL . . . GET A DOG, AND SOME BABIES, AND I'LL SNAP VICKY'S OTHER ARM OFF . . . THE ONE THAT'S NOT PLASTIC . . . I LOVE YOU. HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT? I REALLY DO. YOU'RE SO GREAT. THE GREATEST. EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY BLOODY MENTAL!!! JESUS, HERMIONE, I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU CAN JUST DO THIS TO ME, AFTER ALL WE'VE BEEN THROUGH . . ."

She listens, an expression of stern disapproval fixed on her face, until it finally erupts into flames and withers into flimsy bits of ash. Then she wastes no time in bursting into tears.

* * *

vi.

Ron wakes up on Tuesday, February 16th, with the worst headache known to all mankind and a passionate desire to toss cookies, and the first thing he thinks is, _I hate my bloody life_. Constructing another thought to follow it seems like too much work altogether, so he just winds up sticking with that one. Replays it over and over. It never gets old, which is cool in a way.

* * *

vii.

On Tuesday, February 16th, Viktor breaks things off with her, and Hermione decides that the universe is conspiring against her.

He's very sweet about it, telling her that his work schedule makes it far too difficult, and that it isn't fair to both of them, and that she deserves someone who can actually be there to make her happy. Hermione comforts herself with the thought that he's no doubt only saying this because those rumours floating around about him and the new Holyhead Harpies Keeper must have some truth to them after all.

She's quite composed about it, and remains impressively calm considering the fact that his head is hovering, all green and glowy, in her fireplace, and that he hadn't even bothered to come over properly to reject her.

"Yes," she finally says, and gives him her most graceful smile. "I expect you're right. It's all for the best."

"Besides," Viktor says, his brow furrowing thoughtfully, "wot ever happened vith Ron?"

She certainly doesn't mean to throw the lamp into the fireplace.

* * *

viii.

". . . and aren't all love stories supposed to _end_ with sex, anyway?" Ron demands miserably. "But oh no. Not me and Hermione. She's always got to make everything all bloody impossible." He sighs. "Women, huh?"

Pig doesn't say anything back, of course, but it's nice to know that someone's listening.

* * *

ix.

"And so, as you can see, the situation's quite dire, and, well," Ginny pauses for a moment before finishing hopefully, "help us out?"

Mrs. Weasley smiles. "Really, dear. Must you even ask?"

* * *

x.

Although the last thing she wants in the world right now is to sit across the dinner table from Ron for at least an hour, Hermione doesn't even begin to consider refusing Mrs. Weasley's invitation. The thought of the three empty spots at that table now is enough to bring tears to her eyes, to call back the awful aching for everyone they've lost that she's tried her best to bury.

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Weasley says cheerfully when Hermione asks whether she'd like her to bring anything. "It's nothing special at all, my dear -- just a chance to get all of you under my roof again for a bit. You just bring yourself, and that will be more than enough." She pauses for a moment. "And Viktor, if you'd like."

"Oh," Hermione says, and finds herself struck by the conspiring universe suspicion again. "Actually, we're not exactly together anymore."

"Oh, really?" Mrs. Weasley asks, in a way that makes the idea of throwing the lamp again altogether entirely too tempting.

"It's not a big deal," Hermione says as loftily as she can.

"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Weasley agrees.

* * *

xi.

"You do realize that they're both going to be furious about this, don't you?" Harry says, coming up behind her so he can fasten her necklace.

"Naturally," Ginny replies. "That's half the fun."

She smiles at him in the mirror.

"Right," Harry says, and can't help but grin back.

* * *

xii.

"Ah, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims as soon as Ron steps through the front door that night. "There you are, dear! Listen -- would you run out to the broomshed and grab an extra chair? Tonks has just sent me an owl saying she's coming as well. There's a good boy."

* * *

xiii.

"Ah, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims as soon as Hermione steps through the front door that night, approximately a minute and a half later. "There you are, dear! Listen -- would you run out to the broomshed and grab an extra chair? Tonks has just sent me an owl saying she's coming as well. There's a good girl."

* * *

xiv.

"Gotcha!" Ginny exclaims triumphantly, slamming the door of the broomshed firmly shut as soon as Hermione's slipped inside. She beckons Harry forward, and he hands her her wand. By the time Ron and Hermione have realized what's going on, she's already finished the sealing charm.

"Oh, _honestly_," Hermione mutters furiously.

"GINNY!" Ron bellows.

"We'll be back to check on you in half an hour," Ginny says sweetly, tapping her hand against the door a few times. "Do try to talk things out, now, won't you, children?"

"HARRY! DON'T LET HER BLOODY GET AWAY WITH THIS!"

"They're probably not going to talk to me for a week, after this," Harry remarks as he and Ginny set back off towards The Burrow.

"It's for the greater good," Ginny responds matter-of-factly. "After all, Mr. Potter, are you a hero or not?"

"Good point," Harry agrees.

* * *

xv.

"So," Ron says impatiently, "do you want to talk or not?"

"No," Hermione responds crossly, and sinks down into the chair they were both sent out to get.

"Fine," Ron grumbles, and leans against the wall.

* * *

xvi.

"Ooh, Mum, this meatloaf's excellent," Ginny says, bringing her fork to her mouth.

"It is really great, Mrs. Weasley," Harry says earnestly.

"Oh, you two are too sweet," Mrs. Weasley beams. "You know, the trick is to add just a dash of--"

"Hey," George cuts in curiously, "where are Ron and Hermione?"

"In the broomshed," Ginny responds. "We've locked them in there, and we're not letting them out until they admit they love each other."

"Oh," George says, nodding in approval. "Nice."

* * *

xvii.

"Surely someone has to come let us out of here!!" Hermione exclaims after twenty-three minutes have passed.

"Who?" Ron scowls. "George?"

Hermione sinks down lower into her chair. "Ah. Right."

* * *

xviii.

"Are you in love yet?" Ginny inquires half an hour later, leaning against the door.

"You know what I'm going to do once we get out of here, Ginny?" Ron growls. "I'm going to KILL YOU, that's what. And Harry, too. You tell him that for me, why don't you?"

"This really is horribly immature, Ginny," Hermione adds, the strain in her voice all too obvious. "It's not as though anything's going to be resolved with us locked in here like animals."

"All right, I'll give you an hour this time, then," Ginny concludes merrily. "Although you two really should hurry it up. Dinner's fantastic."

"It _is_ really good," Harry adds. "And there's treacle tart for dessert as well."

"HARRY!!" Ron yells. "ARE YOU MY RUDDY BEST FRIEND OR NOT??"

"Later, you two," Ginny says, and grabs Harry's hand to pull him away.

* * *

xix.

"I'm hungry," Hermione sighs.

Ron reaches into his pocket and fishes out a rather flattened old pumpkin pasty. He doesn't look at her as he hands it over. After a moment's hesitation, she takes it.

"Thanks," she says timidly.

Ron grunts.

Feeling rather brave, she ventures, "Want half?"

"No," he scowls.

Well, _really_. If he didn't always insist upon being so maddeningly impossible, then maybe they wouldn't be here in the first place!

"Fine," she snaps, and unwraps the pasty. The crinkling of the plastic seems uncommonly loud.

* * *

xx.

"--and then he just sort of stares at me, and I say, 'Or perhaps you do remember me?' and shift back into the other face," Tonks finishes. "He looked as though he'd been Stupified."

The table erupts into laughter.

Tonks glances around. "Hey, where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Locked in the broomshed," Harry says, and helps himself to more treacle tart. "We're leaving them there until they admit they love each other."

"Oh!" Tonks says, grinning. "Excellent."

* * *

xxi.

"D'you reckon Tonks has shown up yet?" Hermione asks. "Maybe she'll--"

"Tonks? Yeah, right. She's as bad as Ginny." Ron sighs. "Give it up, Hermione."

"Right," she relents, and sighs.

* * *

xxii.

"There are spiders in here," Ron announces ten minutes later, the colour draining from his face.

"Of course there are spiders, Ron," Hermione says impatiently. "It's a dusty old broomshed."

"I hate spiders," he announces, quite unnecessarily.

"Yes, I know that," Hermione sighs. "There's not much we can do about it, now, can we?"

"Kill them," Ron requests, his voice much higher than usual.

"What??"

"Go on," Ron urges. "You're not afraid of them. Just . . . here, crush them with this. They'll never see you coming." He offers her a rusty garden hoe.

"No!" Hermione exclaims, glaring at him. "I'm not going to slaughter them just because you're irrationally afraid! It's not their fault that they're spiders, and it's not as though they're doing any harm to us!"

"Come on, Hermione--"

"No!" Hermione cries. "You're completely ridiculous."

Ron watches one of the spiders make its way slowly up the wall, its legs creeping with malevolent grace, like some sort of macabre eight-legged ballerina of death or something. He imagines the way it would feel, having it creep up his arm, and shudders.

"Hey, Hermione," he says slowly, "maybe we should talk."

* * *

xxiii.

Ginny's got her ear pressed against the broomshed door.

"What--" Harry begins, and Ginny abruptly shushes him.

"They're talking," she announces in a barely audible whisper.

Harry feels a surge of triumph. "What are they talking about?" he whispers back.

Ginny pauses for a moment, listening thoughtfully. "Ron snogging Lavender Brown, and how it was completely cruel and thoughtless after Hermione had finally worked up the courage to invite him to go to Slughorn's party with her."

"That was in sixth year," Harry says blankly.

"Well," Ginny replies, "clearly she's still quite peeved about it."

"Figures." Harry rolls his eyes.

* * *

xxiv.

". . . and then you _kissed me_," Hermione says, her eyes blazing in a way that reminds Ron very much of S.P.E.W., "and it was completely ill-timed and out of nowhere and what was I supposed to do, Ron? Just drop everything in favour of--"

"Wait," Ron cuts in, holding up one hand. "Wait a second. _I_ kissed _you_?"

"Yes, that's right," Hermione says, her cheeks very pink.

"Oh no," he says, laughing shortly. "You're not going to pin this on me. No way. You were the one who kissed me."

She lets out a scandalized gasp. "I did not!"

"Did so," Ron insists irritably. "I remember it because I practically bloody passed out from shock, and I wouldn't have felt that if it had been my idea in the first place, now wouldn't've I?"

"Well, _I_ remember thinking, 'Oh, God, it's just like him to choose to do this _now_,' and I certainly wouldn't have thought that if it were _my_ idea in the first place!" Hermione retorts triumphantly.

"And I don't get why you're making such a fuss over it, anyway," Ron informs her crossly. "Because as far as I remember, it was a damned good kiss, wasn't it?"

The memory of it comes to her, very much unbidden and highly inconvenient, and she tries to ignore the fluttery feeling that overwhelms her at the thought.

"That's not the point," she says as sternly as she can.

"Not to mention," he plunges on recklessly, because he lives solely to drive her out of her mind, "that it was some pretty good timing, if you think about it -- both of us very well could've died, and I don't know about you, but I would've been pretty spectacularly pissed off if I'd never even gotten to kiss you before You-Know-Who did away with me!"

"We didn't die," Hermione points out.

"Yeah, thanks," he deadpans. "I hadn't picked up on that part."

"And then you never kissed me again," she finishes, as nonchalantly as she can.

"Well, you never kissed me again either!" he reminds her.

"Because you didn't kiss me!" she exclaims.

"I didn't think you wanted me to kiss you because you didn't kiss me!" Ron practically yells. Hermione notices that his ears have gone quite red. "And I don't know if you know this, Hermione, but you're bloody terrifying when you're angry. Excuse me for deciding not to risk it."

"I wouldn't have been angry!" Hermione protests.

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that??" Ron demands.

Ah. She's not precisely sure she has a reasonable answer for that one.

"Oh," she finally says, in a very small voice.

"Yeah," Ron agrees, and he's breathing a bit heavily. She watches as he contemplates something for a moment, then takes a step toward her. A sudden surge of panic floods through her.

"When they locked us in here to talk," she says, "they probably meant about what happened on Monday, didn't they?"

* * *

xxv.

"Progress," Ginny decides. "Definitely progress."

"Maybe we shouldn't be listening to their conversation," Harry suggests.

"Are you kidding?" Ginny whispers. "It's just getting good."

* * *

xxvi.

"I didn't seduce you," Ron announces gloomily.

Hermione stares at him for a moment before tentatively murmuring, "I know."

"And it was a crap thing for you to say," he continues, sounding quite miserable.

She bites her lower lip. "I know."

"I was worried about you," he says, not looking at her as he does it. "I know you have trouble with Vicky -- with _Krum_," he amends pointedly, "being gone all the time."

Hermione supposes that now would be the ideal time to tell him about that particular situation. She doesn't.

"And it's not like you don't know I don't like him," Ron goes on, staring at the garden hoe. "And I get that it's stupid, and that you're allowed to see whoever you want, but it's just . . ." He pauses, then seems to decide not to pursue that particular train of thought. She tries not to look disappointed. "I don't expect you to break up with him or anything." He swallows. "I know you love him, and all."

Oh dear. She really should say something. She knows it to the point where it sort of feels like her veins are on fire, but she _can't_.

"And I'm sorry that I kissed you," Ron continues. "And, er, after that." She suspects that his ears have never been quite this red before. "And . . . I want you to be happy, that's all. I guess I just got a bit selfish. I always get stupid when you cry."

"What?" she asks despite herself.

"Well, when you cry!" he says, a bit defensively, and finally looks up at her. "It's always been like that! Like -- you remember that time in third year, when I said I'd help with Buckbeak's case and you went all weepy and threw yourself on me, and . . ." He shrugs helplessly. "You know."

And even though she knows she shouldn't be, she's touched. "You still remember that?"

"Well, yeah," Ron says, and shuffles a bit uncomfortably. "Don't you?"

"Of course I do," she says. "I just figured maybe you wouldn't--"

"It was the first time you hugged me," he says, and very carefully doesn't look at her. "Of course I'm gonna remember it."

"Ron--"

"But it's okay," he interjects, trying to sound casual and failing quite miserably. "I swear I'm not trying to get you to break up with Viktor for me or something stupid like that."

"Ron--"

"I get that I'm not exactly an international Quidditch star--"

"_Ron_!"

"What?"

Oh, God, she can't do this. "Nothing."

"OH, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" came Ginny's voice, muffled, from through the door. "SHE'S NOT WITH VIKTOR ANYMORE!!"

Hermione's heart does a complex sort of flip that can't possibly be healthy. Ron's mouth drops open slightly.

"Sorry," Harry calls through the door, "for interrupting, and everything."

Ron just stares at her for what might very well be the longest few seconds she's ever experienced. Finally he says, in a way that sounds like he can't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth, "You're not with him anymore?"

"He broke things off today," she says, her gaze falling to the floor, and reminds herself that logically she should not be afraid of Ron.

"And were you planning on telling me this at any point in time?" he asks, and she really wishes she could ignore the traces of anger in his voice.

"Of course I was!"

"Oh, really?" Ron demands, taking a step toward her. "And when would that be, exactly?"

"Soon!" Hermione exclaims.

"Ah, I see," Ron says, and she sees him clenching his hands into fists. "Soon. That's great. That's bloody fantastic. But not, you know, before I wound up spilling my guts to you like an idiot or anything. Because that would just be far too merciful for Hermione Granger, now wouldn't it--"

"Stop it!" she cuts in, a bit of fury starting to boil in her own blood. "I wanted to tell you!"

"Then why didn't you?" he demands.

"Because," she begins, and quite promptly realizes that she has absolutely no way to articulate her reason. "Well, because!" she finishes as matter-of-factly as she can.

"Because!" Ron barks. "Oh, that's great, Hermione, that's really--"

"ATTENTION!" Ginny hollers from the other side of the door.

The two of them fall silent, and Ron glowers at her. Hermione very pointedly doesn't look at him.

"Now!" Ginny calls, quite businesslike. "It's cold out here -- not to mention cold in there, no doubt -- and inside Mum's making cocoa and there's leftover food and actual warmth and it's all generally lovely, so will you please, for the love of all things holy, just kiss and make up already??" She pauses for a moment -- for dramatic effect, Hermione suspects -- then finishes, "We all know you're destined. It's not as though you're fooling anyone -- including yourselves, anymore, so just really, what's the point?"

It's quiet for a second.

"What she said," Harry contributes.

Earlier, when Ron had threatened to kill Ginny and Harry, Hermione had considered it to be a touch melodramatic. Now, she can't help suspecting that he might be onto something.

The worst part of it all is that Ginny is completely right. Especially the part where it's cold in here.

And perhaps the bit where they're not even fooling themselves anymore.

"I _am_ quite hungry," Hermione ventures meekly after a moment.

Ron doesn't say anything; just crosses his arms in front of his chest and scowls at her, then at the door, then her again.

"Aren't you?" she prompts gently.

His gaze has dropped determinedly to the floor. "A bit," he finally admits.

"Well," she says, "then maybe, in the interest of not starving to death, it might be wise to . . ."

He looks up at her.

"You know," she finishes, feeling profoundly stupid.

He doesn't smile, but his eyes soften a bit, and she figures that at this point, it might be wisest to take what she can get.

* * *

xxvii.

"Let's go," Ginny whispers, prodding Harry lightly in the side.

"No more eavesdropping?" he asks, looking a bit surprised.

"I'm not exactly keen on listening to my brother snog one of my best friends," Ginny says, wrinkling her nose. "And if there is any justice whatsoever in this world, there won't be any more talking for us to listen to for a bit."

"Ah," Harry says. "Right." He offers his arm. "Shall we, then?"

"Let's," Ginny agrees, and takes it.

* * *

xxviii.

Mrs. Weasley frowns and glances out the window. "They _are_ taking their time out there, aren't they?" Harry chokes on a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "I suppose they still haven't managed to sort things out."

"I suppose not," Ginny agrees mercifully.


End file.
